


Hold the Fort

by sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Feels, Gen, Season/Series 02, blanket fort, dot game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: Set near the end of S2. With Bobbi still in the infirmity, Hunter needs a safe place to hide. Coulson agrees.
Relationships: Phil Coulson & Lance Hunter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Palentine's Day 2020





	Hold the Fort

The clock ticked past midnight, but Hunter couldn’t face going to his bunk alone. Not when Bobbi lay in the infirmary. Jemma swore up and down Bob would be fine and had kicked him out, telling him to get some rest, but his brain wouldn’t turn off.

He sat alone in the common area, not wanting to watch TV, or pick up a controller, or even look at anybody. Hiding under the couch would be his first choice, he wouldn’t fit.

Hunter drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Oh, sod everything.

He’d hide and the bloody rest of the world could take care of itself for a few hours. He stood and marched to the linen closet, grabbing every extra blanket and pillow he could find. Using the back of the couch as a wall along with a few chairs, he made a fort as he had as a kid. The walls of sheets and worn blankets had been his refuge when things at home had gotten more than he could stand. Running away hadn’t been an option, not until he’d been old enough to enlist and never look back.

Sometimes, he still felt like that kid, finding security in walls much softer than the world would ever be to him.

He got himself a couple of cold beers—damn yank swill—and cracked one open as sat down on a pillow under the roof of his fort. The blanket was a bright blue, like Bob’s eyes. He hastily took a long drink of his lager.

Stocking feet walked by, paused, and Coulson of all people awkwardly knelt down. His arm was in a sling and he looked haggard. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Hunter asked, irritated at being found by his boss while not dealing with his problems in a productive manner. Though there wasn’t a productive manner when you were sitting around waiting on someone you cared about to heal.

“Probably,” Coulson replied. “But my hand’s aching and it’s keeping me up, even though I don’t know where my hand is.” He said it casual, but there were tight lines around his eyes. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Bobbi’s still in the infirmary,” he said, taking another pull on his beer.

Coulson frowned. “Ah.”

“Want a drink?” Hunter asked, jerking his chin at the up open bottle sitting next to him.

“Don’t tell Jemma.” Coulson scooted himself into Hunter’s fort while Hunter popped the bottle cap for him. Coulson gulped down half the bottle in one go. He must really be hurting.

“You should know I don’t usually invite people into my fort,” Hunter said. “But you really looked like you could use a drink. Cheers to not sleeping.” He clicked the neck of his bottle with Coulson’s and they both sipped.

After drinking in silence for a few minutes, Coulson put down his empty bottle. “You know it’s not your fault.”

“Everyone can bloody stop telling me that,” Hunter grumbled, regretting asking Coulson into his hidey-hole.

“I still wanted to say it, and that I understand. You know what I’ve had to do. How many people…friends, have died because I sent them out—”

Hunter interrupted. “It’s their job, mate. Nobody blames you.”

“I do.” Coulson glanced over at Hunter.

“I see your point. Will you lay off it now? Or I’ll kick you out.”

Coulson nodded. “It’s a nice fort.”

“Thank you, but it needs snacks. And supplies. Hang on.”

Hunter crawled out and headed to the kitchen, he filled a bowl with snacks purloined from Fitz, grabbed more beers, a deck of cards, and a yellow legal pad along with a couple of pens. Last was a torch from the drawer, the kind you could slide up the casing and make a lantern out of.

Coulson grinned as Hunter returned, and a knot undid itself in Hunter’s chest. He needed a friend. They could be boss and Agent tomorrow, but right now they were fort-mates. “Join me in the blanket fort,” Hunter said, voice raspy. “We play until dawn.”

Grabbing the paper, Coulson bent over it and started drawing a grid of dots with the black pen. Hunter grabbed the red. “You’re not going to win,” Coulson said. “I am the current reigning dot-game champion. Ask May.” His smile faltered for a moment. May had put in for leave with no fixed end. Coulson had to feel like he was losing another hand.

No time like the present to ignore problems.

“Beer?” Hunter asked, opening and offering another bottle. “And you’re cocky. You should know I had quite the reputation in the SAS for dominating tic-tac-toe and the dot-game.”

Coulson set the pen down and took the drink. “It’s why SHIELD hired you, but I’m so confident, I’ll let you go first.”

Hunter twirled his pen. Tomorrow would be full of the pain currently pushed to the side, but he’d worry about it after the sun rose. Right now, he had a game to win. However things went, he owed Coulson for his company tonight, even if Coulson was also hiding from his responsibilities. Hunter knew being alone in his own head would have been a hundred times worse. Even in a blanket fort. “You’re on.”


End file.
